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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385962">potentialities.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dougeiffel/pseuds/dougeiffel'>dougeiffel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Black Tapes Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, have mercy on my sweet horny soul, this is unfinished and also COMPLETELY unbeta'd so please..........</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:42:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dougeiffel/pseuds/dougeiffel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex Reagan has fucked up.</p>
<p>This is an incomplete work, but I'm stalled on it. Maybe I'll update it in the future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alex Reagan/Richard Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>potentialities.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Richard Strand, by all accounts, was infuriating. He was dismissive, harsh, and condescending. He was a liar. Alex could name off countless faults of the man she had now built her ongoing career around. However, it was difficult for her to name the positives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was especially true as he was standing in her living room, pacing furiously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You broke the law.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did my job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your job?” Richard scoffed. “Your job was to spit in the face of journalistic ethics while disregarding the privacy of your -- your </span>
  <em>
    <span>subject</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he nearly hissed the word. “That was your job?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex reeled back, feeling her eye twitch. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so fucking tired. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You’re not my subject.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strand looked like he’d been slapped in the face. “You’ve built your show on my life, but I’m not your subject? What am I, Alex? What do you posit I am to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To me? </span>
  </em>
  <span>“You’re my partne--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” His voice was quiet, full of fury. “I’m not your partner, Alex. You’re using me to alleviate your obsession with this cult nonsense.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made eye contact with her, striking her like lightning with nothing but a glance. She froze. This was not protocol. There was something different about this, something that hurt like a boot to the chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I--” she started, then stopped. Nothing seemed right. “Dr. Strand, I was just trying to uncover the story. You’re part of the story.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, derisive. He seemed almost unhinged, a glint in his eye that told her something was amiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you call me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What? </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that how you see me, Alex? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span> Strand?” He’s standing over her now. Looming. “You call me Richard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Richard--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed again. “No, clearly we’ve returned to the days of stifled formality, sitting three feet apart on a couch watching tapes. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Miss Reagan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt like she’d been clipped in the chest. Miss Reagan was not her name. Her name was Alex. He knew her name and used it, but she knew this time something was off. Something sat underneath the thunderous anger he spat at her. Something that took the wrong shape, a shape that bent him differently. His nose scrunched. His shoulders tense, held up by his ears as if by a devil behind him. His hands, clenched, but loose, knuckles gyrating. His dark circles wide and daunting, a shadow that seemed to extend up into the eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked like he was hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In that split second, it came together. She had not betrayed his privacy (</span>
  <em>
    <span>well, yes, she had</span>
  </em>
  <span>), but his trust. She had not betrayed a professional relationship, but a personal one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strand turned on his heel. “Do not contact me again, Miss Reagan. I will have Ruby collect my things from your office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Richard, wait--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed to almost hesitate, for a split second, palm hovering above the doorknob; the outside a potentiality she did not want to meet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, he shook his head, and with a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>slam</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was gone. The potentiality, now a concrete future, seeped in through the door frame and under the floorboards, pulling Alex to the ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Alex did not sleep, and it showed on her face. Nic immediately knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened with Strand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex was silent for a moment, frozen in a moment before confirmation. “It’s over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the forced resolution, or lack thereof, she’d avoided all night. She felt dead. She knew she looked it. Of course, at that moment, the universe demanded she face her inbound destiny, however bleak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi Alex, Nic.” Ruby looked irritatingly well-rested. “Dr. Strand told me to come collect his things. Can I get in your office?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex dragged herself to her office door. Ruby pittered past her, tiny feet moving her into the small space filled with post-its, beginning to put tapes in her bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nic stared at Alex, grabbing her by the arm and ushering her away from the door of her office where she stood, limp against the doorway. “Do you want me to handle this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She ignored him. “Can I take a nap in the booth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused. There was editing that needed to be done, but she looked...nearly completely undone in her haggardness. “Alex, do you want to go home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This delicate dance of not answering each other’s questions was familiar, and it almost soothed her. “What would Terry and Paul think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nic resolved to work an extra few hours for the next few days to make sure their episode went up on time as he watched Alex’s retreating form, slogging through the air like it was drying concrete. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was cloudy. Alex was in bed. Not sleeping, almost never sleeping, just tossing around in the sheets until she was too tired to move. She drifted in between half-dreams for two hours until her body refused to budge, and she found herself staring at the mid-century plaster swirls on her ceiling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Could I scrape those off? Would that violate my lease?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The answer was yes, but it didn’t matter. Alex wouldn’t do it regardless. Her mind drifted to more mundane things. The edits she needed to do, how Nic would be working extra to compensate for her absence. A flash of guilt panged through her, but she was too exhausted to do anything but acknowledge it and let it pass. That was what her therapist told her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mindfulness, Alex. Let the thoughts pass by without fixating. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She did. She became bored trying to sleep, and anxious just tapping around on her phone. She opened her messages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Richard…?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Delivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Delivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t do it again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Delivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t sleep.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Delivered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was delirious. She should not have been speaking to him, much less confiding. That was no longer her place. That thought ached like an old wound, bringing back the memory of a dark room. Hands almost touching, breathing slow, sleepy. Falling asleep on a couch that was not hers. Nothing but the faintest indication of a smile behind frigid blue eyes. Realizing in the haze of waking that she had been warm, and now she was cold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These thoughts lulled her to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, rest. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was something there. Something standing at the edge of her bed, moving almost imperceptibly. The familiar feeling of dread filled her. The thing’s head moved too fast out of the darkness -- the neck bones snapped as it turned its’ head 180 degrees to face her. She felt her heart gather in her throat, trying to pull her feet back, but it was almost as if the thing knew what she was going to do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It slammed its hands down on her legs, pinning them where they lay, paralyzing her. Cold seeped through the blankets and into her bones, freezing a scream in her throat. A ferocious grin spread across its face, all white teeth and blood red flesh. It let out a low hum as it began clambering onto her bed, fixating its solid white eyes on her. She knew, despite the lack of pupils, it was looking right at her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was too big, freakishly large, almost laughable had it not been for the terror. Alex tried to thrash, to throw it off, anything to be free. Anything to not be consumed. It loomed over her throat, mouth wide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The monster looked confused. It whipped its head back and forth, searching for the noise. She prayed it would find it and leave her be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt her body shake. “Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She jolted awake, slamming her head into something before going horizontal again. Her vision blurred with pain, then cleared after a few seconds. She scrambled back as she realized the eyes regarding her were not that of a demon, but of Richard Strand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She burst into tears. Her night terrors were a largely private event, barring the few sleep notes she’d consented to sharing. The sleep notes were edited. The sleep notes never contained her tears; they never contained her vulnerable moments just after waking where the world seemed an alien entity encroaching upon her, rife with horrors waiting in the dark corners of her small apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richard simply sat for a moment as Alex collected herself. She wiped her face with the backs of her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strand blanched. “I--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sat up straighter, a realization forming at the back of her mind. “Richard, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what are you doing in my apartment?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” It was not a question, but a demand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had that shadow behind his eyes that she’d seen the last time he was there. A hurt that obscured the clarity that usually lay in his gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I came to drop off your key and heard you screaming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was screaming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, splaying his fingers on the bed beside her, staring at his fingernails. His expression was inscrutable in that moment, but was shaped almost like concern. “You sounded...distressed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared blankly at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he concerned about </span>
  </em>
  <span>me</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up at her. She met his gaze coolly, afraid she would begin to cry again if she tried to say anything. He looked tired. Frazzled would have been the word she used for anyone else, but for Strand, the right word was mussed. His hair was ruffled in a way that inspired a twinge of worry in her, and the bags under his eyes were darker than the previous day, when he left. He was staring at her still. She realized she’d been quiet for too long, let his concern sit unaddressed for more than the requisite amount of time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the moment after it was said, neither was honestly sure who asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex paused, thumbs worrying a circle in the blanket over her lap. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like his whole body lost its composure. His shoulders dropped. He seemed surprised they did, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding so much tension. “I...accept your apology.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few more moments of silence passed between them before Alex opened, then closed her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Strand asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why were you dropping off my key?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richard made a face. “I wasn’t going to keep it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...but why not Ruby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, seemingly lost for an answer.  Alex suppressed a smile, even as Strand shifted uncomfortably next to her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want to see me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Strand blinked, affecting an offhanded condescension. “Of course not. That has never been my intention.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words stung. “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I--” he paused. “I didn’t mean it like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waved a hand, tossing the blanket off of herself, intending to walk away from Strand and find something to occupy her hands with as this interaction dragged on. The chill air hit her legs as she realized she had, in her exhaustion, stripped off her jeans before getting into bed. Her face turned red as she whipped the blanket back over her lap, staring into the middle-distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flush of bare pink rise on Strand’s face as he averted his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More silence. It seemed like silence was all that sat between them, like something lay unresolved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer my question.” Strand was staring straight at her now. No flush, no hurt, only clear and unobscured determination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I asked you a question yesterday, and you didn’t answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, I can’t say I remember everything you said to me yesterday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned towards her, a slight motion, but enough to make her notice. “What am I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped. Her heartbeat stuttered to a stop in her chest. “I told you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night they had spent together on a couch, watching black tapes, was a fantasy. It was something she entertained in the dead of night, haunted by night terrors, comforted by the memory of Richard’s weight and warmth. Nothing had happened. They were colleagues. It was one instance of slight indiscretion that ended in the daylight. They had slept on the same couch. Nic and she had slept on the same couch and it didn’t compromise her integrity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew that was a false equivalency. She had never thought, at length, about sleeping on a couch again with Nic. She had never clung to that thought in the dark, never fantasized about what could have happened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While lost in thought, she had not realized Strand had taken on a more rigid body language. He looked almost wounded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richard,” she said gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I should go.” Richard stood, stiffly. “I apologize. I’ll leave your key.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed his wrist, wrapping her fingers gently around his pulse. “You are my partner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared into the distance, unmoving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I...I don’t know if--if you…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there another answer you want to hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was still frozen, but she felt his pulse jump. “Is there another answer you want to give?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Her heart leapt into her mouth, beating against her tongue like a wild thing. It made her beat elsewhere, the way he looked at her when she said it. His eyes like a flame, blue and narrowed at her throat like the stark white eyes of a demon, stalking her through her bedroom. The intention was different, but the hunger was the same. The ravenous objective, the same. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have thought about that night, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words shot through her like electricity. “Oh?”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hated to leave you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was burning into her, branding her with ice. She felt her skin heat up where he looked; she felt like she had a rash. What if she did, she worried absently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were so vulnerable.” He sat next to her, radiating some feeling she could not name. “You barely twitched. It was like you were sleeping instead of mimicking what you think sleep looks like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would never--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve watched you do it.” The faintest amusement registered in his voice. “When you want Nic to believe you’ve rested. It’s really a very good facade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She flushed, embarrassed, and a little aroused to know he’d watched her. She’d had no idea, which made her wonder how often he’d done it. “I do it for his peace of mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about mine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him in the face, and what she saw fascinated her. His comportment had slipped, or he had disregarded it altogether. He stared at her with naked want, a look she’d only seen (and ignored, for her own peace of mind) in passing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if I worried you. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry about breaking your trust. I just want to reiterate-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, Alex.” He studied her for a moment, putting up a hand. “May I make a request?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but Richard, I really just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alex.” He warned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was gentle, but demanding. A kiss to hush her, absolutely, and that it did. She reeled back, eyes wide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richard, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Concern emerged on his face, mixed with an emotion she recognized as suppressed desire. “Alex, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--I don’t know what came over me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him close to her face. “Don’t apologize,” she said, studying his face. The exhausted crows feet, the way his mouth was still so distractingly close, the way his eyes were etching into her with calculated precision. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kissed him again, with less gentleness. It was a heated demand she communicated to him in that moment, and he understood it perfectly. She pulled him over her, nestling him between her legs. It temporarily distracted her, the pressure at the apex of her thighs forcing a soft moan out of her and into his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked surprised, pulling away. “Alex?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope,” she clutched his shirt collar (because, of course, he showed up to her home in business attire on his off day) and pulled him back down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like a teenager.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She recognized she was becoming more heated, more insistent by the second. She could feel Richard hardening against her, and it took, quite literally, everything in her, to not grind against him like a horny adolescent. He was an adult. They were both adults. She wouldn’t embarrass herself, would not ruin this moment for which she’d played emotional chess for months to get, by acting like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until he did it for her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his hands from her face to grab her by the hips and pull her against him. She groaned at the contact, then immediately heated up, embarrassed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be reserved on my account.” He looked down at her, eyes hooded, breathing slightly labored. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt lightheaded. “I...it’s been a while.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” he began pressing deliberate kisses to her neck, then across her collarbone. “If you’re uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to inform me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Professor Strand,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started. “Was that too clinical?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” she laughed, putting a hand on his chest. “Speaking of clinical and decidedly unsexy...have you been tested?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Once every three months. Last month, actually. I can forward you the results from my doctor if you’d li-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t. I got tested two weeks ago, so I think we’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed her again, more urgently, moving his fingers at the hem of her shirt. She let out a gasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus, Richard, your hands are cold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” It was his turn to look embarrassed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swore to herself she wouldn’t loose some corny line about how to warm his hands. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>swore</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know somewhere you could put them to warm them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked amused. “Miss Reagan, are you propositioning me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only if you are open to being propositioned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked thoughtful for a moment before kissing her at the base of her throat. “I believe I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laid a trail of heated kisses up her throat before gently tugging her shirt over her head. “I don’t think you need this,” he murmured, kissing between her clavicles and then further, between her breasts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a moment to look her over, and she felt her skin turn red where he looked. She put her arm over her eyes, uncomfortable with being examined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are exquisite, Alex.” Richard murmured, seemingly in awe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she deferred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As you wish.” He kissed her right where her solar plexus caved, then down to her belly button. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex nodded mutely as she watched, scared that any word or movement would ruin this moment, like a herd of deer fleeing from a gunshot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richard’s mouth left a hot trail from her belly button to her hipbones, circling over both with an adept tongue. She squirmed under these attentions but did not protest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed the inside of her thigh experimentally, glancing up only to see her, eyes squeezed shut, mouth slightly agape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright with this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh-huh” was all she could manage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kissed her over her underwear, breathing hot air onto her already heated flesh. “May I take these off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was so horny she felt stupid. She could feel her clit pulsing for attention, and was immediately self-conscious about the fact he would know what he’d done to her. She had almost always kept her cool. Now, though, she was exposed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She muttered something that sounded like “yeah,” and he gingerly removed them from her, guiding her legs out. He nestled between her thighs, looking irritatingly awed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are so beautiful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richard, Jesus. Don’t be weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How is that weird?” His breath hit her sex and she felt like screaming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are beautiful, Alex,” he purred, kissing her labia. When she moaned, quietly, he was encouraged, licking a long, slow line down her center. “And I would like to make you come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes shot open, staring at the ceiling. Her vision swam. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, please don’t feel the need to ask permission.”</span>
</p>
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